IT IS A QUEER TRADE, MONSIEUR, THIS OF A PIRATE
"IT IS A QUEER TRADE, MONSIEUR, THIS OF A PIRATE," HE SAID.
"Then why do you follow it?" asked Marbury, handing over the gold, and motioning for the slave to put down the silver.
"Force of circumstances, drove me to it," counting the sovereigns.
"Which is the same thing as natural inclination," Marbury replied.
"You mean, that circumstances force one only where one wants to go?"
"Exactly!"
"And therefore that I am a pirate from choice?"
"Certainly!"
"Are you paying me this gold from choice, or from force of circumstances?"
"I, most assuredly, amnotpaying from choice."
"Neither am I a pirate from choice, monsieur. But, being one, I believe in being a good one."
"Which means, that you are a particularly bad one."
Long-Sword laughed. "You have no evidence of it, monsieur. Surely, I was not rapacious in my terms to you!—There are four sovereigns too many——"
"I know," said Marbury. "I gave you all the gold I had."
The pirate gravely returned them.
"It was to be twelve hundred, no more. This is the silver?" pointing to the bundle in white. "Very good—my men shall be immediately withdrawn. Monsieur, I have the honor to salute you, and to bid you farewell," and he bared his head and bowed low.
Then he put his fingers to his lips and whistled shrilly. Instantly, those of his crew in the rear of the house, marched down and joined the main body. A motion brought his two lieutenants forward—he gave one the gold, the other the silver, and they started toward their ship. He, himself, paused a moment to pluck a rose and admire it, before fastening it in his coat; then he turned, and,again gravely saluting Marbury, who had retired to the doorway, followed after his men.
"May the devil take you!" Marbury muttered.
"And may he take him soon!" said Constable from his window. "Shall we call off the defenders?"
"Yes—I think so; but, to make sure, I will slip down and see them sail away. Keep a sharp lookout until I return. In the meantime, let all the horses be saddled and brought around—the women can escape, then, if necessary."
"Let me go with you," said Parkington.
They had gone but a short distance, when there came, from the direction of the river, a faint yell, followed by another and another, and yet another.
"Now, what is the matter?" said Parkington pausing. "Are they coming back?"
"God knows!" exclaimed Marbury, pausing also.
"And as He will not tell," remarked Parkington, after a wait, during which no further sounds came, "we shall have to find out for ourselves."
Under cover of the trees and bushes, which lined the driveway, they gained, at length, sight of the landing. Then, the reason for the cries was evident:—the pirates had lost their ship.
It was anchored farther down stream than they had left it, and beside it lay another vessel, which Marbury recognized as one of his own ships,The Whip, overdue from London. Not a man was visible on either, and, except for theRoyal Georgeidly flapping in the morning breeze, there appeared to be absolute quiet aboard—save only that the two rogues, who had been left in charge, were swinging by their necks from the yard-arm.
The pirates were gathered in animated discussion—their first rage had quieted into sullenness. Their four boats still lay at the landing—quite sufficient to get them back to the ship in detachments, but scarcely enough for an attacking party. Long-Sword was standing apart from the others, trying to make out what force was against them. Manifestly, if he wanted to regain his ship, the thing was to go and take it—and, at length, he gave the order to attack. How admirable his discipline, was shown by their waiting for the word.
One by one, he designated the men who should go, calling them by name, until the boats could hold no more. Then he stepped aboard the nearest, and took the tiller.
"Give way!" he ordered—"and keep well apart."
It was the signal to the ships, also. Instantly, they came to life—and the two Long-Toms of the pirate, and the one onThe Whip, were trained on the boats. The buccaneers set up a shout, and bent to their oars. The more uncertain the target, the more chance there was for a miss. A quarter the distance was covered ... half the distance....
"Please God, they do not fail!" said Marbury, breathlessly.
"Why don't they shoot!" cried Parkington. "Why don't——"
Crash! the one Long-Tom spoke.
"Hit!" shouted Marbury. "Hit!"
Crash! went the other Long-Tom.
"Two!" cried Parkington, as the boat disappeared in a cloud of water.
Crash, wentThe Whip'sgun.
"Three!" cried both together.
The river was filled with the debris—with dead and dying pirates. Of the three boat loads, not half a dozen were sufficiently uninjured to be dangerous—and they were in deep water, with all they could do to care for themselves.
One boat remained—Long-Sword's boat. The ships could not reload the guns in time to reach it—they must sink it when it swung alongside, or meet the crew as they came up the ropes.
It was close distance, now. Long-Sword, transferring the tiller to his left hand, drew his pistol and fired quickly. A sailor threw up his arms and fell. He seized a fresh pistol, from the man nearest, and fired a second time, knocking the cutlass from another's hand. Again, he cut the bulwark at another's head. Then the rail hid them. The next moment, they shot in alongside.
Before they could seize the ropes, however, a man reared himself upright, just above them,bearing in his arms a huge water cask, and flung it down into the boat.—And the boat disappeared, as if by magic, leaving its cargo of wounded and uninjured struggling in the water.
"Bravo! Jamison! bravo!" exclaimed Marbury. "You get a quarter's salary for that throw. Marry, how they struggle!"
"Look at Long-Sword!" said Parkington. "See, he is up the rope, hand over hand!... he makes the rail!... he is aboard!... his rapier is out!... he spits one!... he spits another!... My God! did you see it! struck from behind!—he is down! he is down!"
The fall of their leader ended the fight. The Coward and One-Eye had gone down with the boats—the former with his neck broken, the latter with his legs shot away. There was none to lead the few that had remained on shore, or who managed to save themselves from the river. Their one thought, now, was flight.—But where to flee!
Boom!
A ball from one of the vessels scattered the water at their very feet. They cut and ran for cover, leaving the wounded to follow, as best they might.
And Marbury and Parkington, brought to a sudden realization of their own danger, turned and made for the house, at full speed.
"Where are the women?" was Marbury's first question, as they dashed in.
"Gone!—they are safe at Maynadier's, by this time," said Constable.
"Good!—we may have to fight for it."
"What has happened?" asked Herford.
"Enough!" answered Parkington.—"The pirate ship was captured while undefended, by one of Mr. Marbury's schooners, which had just come in. They tried to regain it—their boats were sunk—almost all on board were killed—their leader is dead or a prisoner—the rest are bound, this way, seeking to escape.—Here they come! Now for it."
The pirates were marching rapidly up the drive—about fifty of them. They seemed to have decided, already, what and how, for, at about two hundred yards, they separated into three detachments. One of these remained in front, another, of an equal number, passed around to the right, and the third, containing the remainder, made for the left of the house and the rear.
"They are going to rush us on all four sides at the same time," said Marbury. "Be ready!"
There was not long to wait. The moment the rear detachment was in place, a shrill whistle rang out, and, with an exultant yell, the pirates flung themselves forward.
They were met by a fusillade from the windows, that thinned their ranks, somewhat, but did not stop the onslaught. Before the defenders could change guns, they were close against the house, and, so, safe for the time. But it gave them noentrance—they were practically as far from the inside as ever.
A wounded pirate, out in front, waved his hand feebly and called to his fellows for aid; another struggled to his feet, staggered a few steps and plunged down in a heap; one crawled on hands and knees to the shade of a nearby tree, propped himself against it, and there died, cursing God, man and the devil; others lay where they had fallen, their buccaneering over. The Jolly Roger would fly no more for them.
But their comrades heeded them not. They were of no value, further, could bear no part in the strife. They were as useless impedimenta as the dead, so they left them to die.
Suddenly, a chopping noise began immediately under the front of the house. Marbury listened an instant, then sprang for the stairs.
"The cellar windows!" he shouted. "A man from each room follow me."
These windows, of which there were four, two in front and two in rear, were protected by iron bars set into the stone foundation, and scarcely three inches apart. No one could squeeze through, unless two of them were ripped out. And that was what the pirates were trying to do, protected by their proximity to the house, and finding that the windows were not defended.
But the bars were staunch, and, when Marbury gained the cellar, they had not been sprung. Hethrew up his pistol, and one of the assailants went down. The others instantly drew back out of sight.
"Ha! ha!" laughed Parkington; "what is the next move?"
A crash of glass answered him from the other cellar; the next moment, four pirates were in and upon them. Parkington drew his blade and took the first one, Constable the second, and Herford the third; the fourth made for Marbury, who was without his sword, and with nothing but an empty pistol to defend himself.
With a shout, the pirate leaped upon him, to be met by the empty weapon, hurled in his face with all the strength Marbury possessed. The man flung up an arm and broke the blow, somewhat, but it still struck him hard enough to cover his face with blood, and to send him staggering back against the wall. Before he had recovered, Marbury sprang across the cellar, and, seizing an axe from the corner, returned to the attack.
The pirate dashed the blood away and met him with a sweeping blow of his cutlass. Marbury caught it on the handle of the axe and turned it aside. Again the cutlass swung, and again the axe brushed it away, and again, and yet again. A fifth time, the cutlass swept around, aimed at the head, which, with an axe, is the most difficult to protect. Marbury had just time to spring back, the point ripping the stock at his neck, and cutting the buckle asunder. The next instant, ere he couldrecover, Marbury whirled his weapon aloft and brought it down with all his force, shearing away the guard, which the pirate raised to meet it, like a willow wand and sinking deep into his neck. The man dropped. Marbury jerked out the axe, and turned to help the others.
He found Herford hard put to hold his own. He had been wounded slightly in the arm, and was beginning to breathe heavily. Without ado, Marbury stepped behind the pirate, and felled him with a blow on the head.
At the same time, Constable passed his sword through his antagonist, and, as the man fell, he whipped it out again, and turned to assist Parkington. But the latter raised his hand in protest.
"I will kill him in a moment," he said. "Pray, indulge me—— Ah, my friend—you do not know the double coup.... So, take it!" and the man died, with the sword in his throat.
"Four!" muttered Marbury.
"Five! with the man you shot," corrected Parkington.
Suddenly, there arose a great thumping at the rear, accompanied with shots and curses and imprecations. Marbury and the others sprang up the stairway, to find Snowden and the rest engaged in repelling a desperate onslaught on the rear door.
While the fight was going on in the cellar, the assailants had mustered all their strength in the rear, to make one determined effort to gainadmission. Four men were sent to the wood-house for a log. They were not disturbed by the defenders, who were not wasting bullets on the departing. Another contingent followed, and were likewise undisturbed. The rest gathered close along the side of the house and waited, secure from those within. Then, of a sudden, the men emerged with the log, and hurried across the open with it. Some of them fell under the fire of the besieged, but not enough to hinder, and, before they received a second volley, they had the log safe before the house. Their first assault had been ineffectual, they were mustering, now, for a second.
To get a proper swing, it was necessary to go back a little way from the door; the moment they did so, they came into range of the rifles at the nearest windows. Four pirates went down before their fire—but the rest, with the log swung from their shoulders, dashed forward and hurled it against the door.
It split the frame and shattered it, but did not drive it from the hinges, nor loosen the lock.
"A good door!" said Parkington. "But will it stand another?"
"We shall soon see," answered Constable.
Again the pirates bore back—again, the rifles cracked and four of them went down—again, there was a crash—the splinters flew, the hinges rattled, the lock sprang inward, bent and twisted, but the door still held.
"It will not stand another," said Parkington, drawing his sword. "Be prepared."
This time, however, the assailants did not go back. They simply lifted the log and sent it against the lock. And the door yielded, though slowly and reluctantly, dragging backward on its battered hinges, so that the foremost pirates had to fling themselves forward to its aid.
Whereby, the nearest met his death, for Parkington saw, and quickly passed his sword through the man's heart, the body tumbling across the entrance. The other saved himself by a leap back—but the door was open, now.
With a rush, the pirates came—to be met by a volley of bullets that, in the mass of men, had deadly effect. They stopped—wavered—and then Parkington and Constable were at them, their rapiers flashing as they sent them home.
"Ha! ha!" laughed the former, as he spitted his man in the jugular, so that the blood jetted forth in a great stream. "I would not have missed this sport for a hundred guineas.—Ha! that is it, is it?—well, accept this in exchange, my friend.... What, going! and so soon! Au revoir, messieurs! my heart goes with you—au revoir.... Mr. Constable, my compliments on your sword-play, it was most expert. True, they were but pirates, but some of them were not to be despised." And with a formal salute, he ran his weapon back into its sheath.
The pirates were going; panic had seized them, and they were in full retreat—a dozen or so in number, caring for nothing so much as to escape. They wanted no more of the house that had been their misfortune—that had seemed so easy and, yet, in truth, was so hard. They wanted to get away—in the unreasoning fear that held them, mad flight alone spelled safety. And they went, scurrying across the lawn and through the park, as though the Devil and all his battalions were riding in their wake.
"Terror drives—all else is forgotten," said Constable.
"We can be thankful for the terror," observed Parkington; "it saved us, I fancy; we should not have had a chance had they been properly led."
"We played in rare good luck," said Snowden. "Fifty pirates! and only a flesh wound in the arm, and a shattered door to pay the bill. Oh! what luck!"
"I am the only hero among you!" laughed Herford. "How does it happen, Parkington, that you let me get away with the wound?"
"When it comes to that," was the ready answer, "you are welcome to the honor,—if honor there be in letting a pirate stick you. I choose the whole hide rather than the hole."
"Come, gentlemen, let us inspect the casualties," said Marbury, and led the way out to the rear.
A dozen bodies lay on the grass and aroundthe doorway—they had fallen in their tracks, proof of the deadly shooting of the defenders. Marbury turned them, one by one, with his foot, to make sure that they would buccaneer no more. The last one groaned, made a faint move to arise, and, then, seeing who prodded him, drew his dagger and plunged it into his heart.
"Wise man!" said Marbury. "He saves himself a tiresome imprisonment and an awful death."
On the other side of the house, there were both dead and wounded, the former, however, being much in the majority. Of the latter, two were maimed and helpless, and Marbury contented himself with directing the blacks to carry them into the nearest outhouse and give them drink. He would come presently, and see to their hurts. Another, blinded in both eyes by a bullet, was wandering around half crazed by the pain, and imploring some one to kill him. He had lost his dagger and was without weapon. Marbury looked at him a moment, considering—then, went to him.
"Here is what you want," he said. "Make an end."
The distracted wretch reached out wildly, seized the pistol, that Marbury put into his hand, and instantly sent the ball into his brain.
"Dig a trench back of the park and bury them," Marbury directed, when they had viewed the last, and turned back to the house. And the blacks, straightway, began to do as they were commanded.
"Here endeth the reading of the lesson!" commented Parkington.
"And may the next one be forever postponed," added Plater.
"Amen!" said the rest, speaking as one man.
"It is a pity, now, the ladies were put to the bother of riding away," Parkington reflected.
The others stared at him and were silent, except Herford, who gave a little, scornful laugh.
"I think they would have enjoyed the outcome," Parkington went on; "and then, it would have given Captain Herford the opportunity to pose as a hero,in ipso actu."
"Captain Herford can take care of himself—" he began.
"As you have shown us, my dear Captain, as you have shown us!" said Parkington.
At which Herford scowled, then passed it by with a laugh.
They went into the house, and opened the shutters. Everything was calm and peaceful, as of yesterday. Save that the furniture was somewhat disarranged, no one would have imagined what a strenuous morning had been theirs. The table was spread for breakfast—the breakfast itself had been ready to serve. Marbury remembered that none of them had eaten, and it was now near noon. He turned to his guests.
"Gentlemen," he said, with a wave of his hand toward the ready fare, "let us fall to. Joshua,serve the meal—but first, I think, we all need a drink." He motioned toward the side-board, where the decanters glistened. "Help yourselves."
Parkington filled his glass, and held it up.
"Messieurs," he said, "it is not the time usually devoted to toasts, but, nevertheless, I give you: 'The ladies, may they be in safety now, and soon return to us.'"
A little later, Captain Jamison arrived to make his report, and was received with acclaims and congratulations. Whereat, the honest sailor was vastly surprised, not imagining that they were aware of what had happened on the river. He brought with him the bags of gold and the silver which, he said, he supposed was the ransom money Marbury had paid the pirates, it having been found at the landing, where they had left it in their eagerness to recover their ship.
When questioned, as to how he had got possession of the ship, he told the story:
"I sailed into the Patuxent, with a good breeze on the port quarter, and came in sight of the landing, at about six bells of the dog-watch. I noticed a brig lying close in to the dock that was strange to me, and, on coming nearer, I hove to and hailed her. She didn't answer, nor could I see any one aboard, so I hailed again—and a third time. Then a man appeared from below, and, to my fourth hail, responded something in a jargon I could not understand. I did not like the look of the ship, anyway, and this made me suspicious. I could see that she carried two Long-Toms, had a great expanse of sail, and was built to go a very fast clip. Whenfurther hails were ignored, I ordered out a boat and proceeded to board her, with six men. How we managed it is of no moment. Suffice it to say, we got aboard with the loss of one man dead and one wounded, and found only two defenders. We strung them both up to the yard-arm, and took possession. It was a pirate, right enough. I supposed its crew were raiding the Hall, sir, and I was just preparing to go to your assistance, when I saw them returning. I, of course, did not know how far they had succeeded, and I made ready to receive them. You know with what results. It was a pretty little fight. The pirate chief—at least, I made him so—alone managed to get aboard, and had killed two of my men, when I knocked him over from behind with a belaying pin. He stepped aside, at the moment, sufficiently to save his head and catch it on the shoulder. Hence, a broken collar bone instead of a broken skull. He is not much hurt. I've locked him up in the cabin, and put a guard over him. With your permission, Mr. Marbury, I'll have him up at the end of a rope to join his comrades, as soon as I get back. A dead pirate is the only safe one."
"I think I would not be so hasty," said Marbury, with a smile. "Do you know who he is?"
"Not I, sir. A pirate's a pirate—the quicker he's dead the better for honest men."
"You forget the reward—there must be at leastfive hundred pounds on his head. Long-Sword is worth his weight in gold."
"Long-Sword, did you say? Long-Sword the Corsair?"
Marbury nodded. "It is the name he gave me."
Jamison emitted a whistle of surprise.
"Well I should say heisa gold mine—it's a thousand guineas reward he is. I'll carry him straight to Annapolis—with your honor's permission, of course—and we shall see him doing the gallows dance according to the King's justice. Ho, ho! Ho, ho! I think I'll be quitting the sea, sir, and settling down.... Long-Sword! May the Lord save me! I must go and put him in double irons, at once. He may have a broken collar bone, and be locked in the cabin, but nothing but double irons will hold him safe."
"And what of the pirate ship?" asked Parkington. "If Long-Sword is a prize, it should be a veritable treasure house."
"I purposely refrained from examining her," Jamison answered. "I left that for Mr. Marbury."
"I will come down, presently," said Marbury. "Meanwhile, you may proceed with making an inventory of the booty aboard."
Jamison saluted and departed. The party finished the meal, and went out on the lawn. The dead had been taken away for burial, and the evidences of the late struggle were being removed.
"I hope the house party is not ended," said George Marbury. "The ladies can come back, and, I am sure, feel perfectly safe."
"I fancy that is for the ladies to decide," said Snowden:—"though I am quite willing for Mrs. Snowden to return. We, at least, have seen the last of the pirates, I imagine."
The other men had the same opinion, though Herford thought that he would much prefer to have killed all the pirates, and not had a bunch running loose in the vicinity.
"There is no danger to us," said Plater. "They will get out of the neighborhood about as fast as they can. They may do some marauding, on the march, but it will not be twice in the same place—and it will not be anything that will require time. They are in too great a hurry. I will wager, that they have already separated in twos and threes, to foregather at an appointed place—York or thereabouts. I too am quite willing for Mrs. Plater to return."
And so it was, that he and Snowden and Constable were designated to go to Rose Hill and bring the ladies back—it being understood that nothing be said to them of the pirates' second attack.
A little later, Marbury set out for the dock to inspect the pirate ship. As he was going down the steps, Parkington called to him, that, if he had no objection, he would be glad to accompany him.
"Come along, sir," he answered—"but I think, if the others do not mind, they would better remain to welcome the ladies, and insure that the house is here for them—there is just a chance that the pirates may return."
"Is not this attack most unusual?" Sir Edward asked, as they came in sight of the landing.
"It is more than unusual—it is extraordinary. We have not known of a pirate north of the West Indies for forty years—and, as for one venturing inside the Capes, I fancy, it is not in the memory of man. Of course, we had heard of Long-Sword, as the most notorious buccaneer on the old Spanish Main; but that is far from the Chesapeake. We never thought to see him here, sir."
"I think I should like to talk with him," said Parkington. "It will be quite an interesting experience."
Marbury laughed. "You will be all the rage in London—the man who spoke with Long-Sword—and survived!"
"I am not so sure as to London—and I care nothing for being the rage. It is the novelty of the thing that takes me."
"Well, you may quiz him to your heart's content, and I think you will find him, outwardly at least, a gentleman. He impressed me as being of superior birth—however much he may have backslid in his calling—and his manners are the equal of your own."
Jamison had seen them coming down the avenue, and had sent a boat ashore for them. He had not allowed any at the landing, he explained, lest the pirates return, and make trouble.
"Sir Edward Parkington wants to see Long-Sword," said Marbury. "Is he in the cabin, or have you had him taken below."
"He is in the cabin, sir," Jamison answered. "I concluded to put the irons only on his legs—I think that will hold him. If you will step here, sir, I will admit you."
He unlocked the cabin door, and pushed it open, and motioned the guard away.
"Long-Sword, here is Sir Edward Parkington, who would speak with you," he said.—"You will excuse me, sir, I must join Mr. Marbury."
Parkington nodded, and stepped within. The pirate turned, slowly, on the bunk.
"You will pardon me for not rising," he said; "I am a trifle indisposed," and he indicated the irons. "How can I serve you?"
"Say rather how I can serveyou?" Parkington replied.
Long-Sword laughed shortly. "By finishing what that merchantman bungled—make an end of me, or permit me to make an end of myself."
"You are depressed—a most unusual thing for you."
"Eh—what's that!" the other ejaculated—"a most unusual thing for me!—who are you?"
"A friend," said Sir Edward.
"I caught your name as Parkington, did I not?"
"You did."
"Then I do not even know you, sir—how can you be a friend?"
"Is foreknowledge a prerequisite to friendship?" Sir Edward asked.
"Marry, yes; and even then it is a rare article," said the pirate with a sneer. "I am a victim of that same friendship, so you will permit me to doubt."
"Yes, I know; the faithless friend and the disloyal wife. I——"
"Who are you, sir! Come out of the shadow, if you are not afraid to show yourself, I cannot hurt you, now!"
"Brandon," said Parkington, stepping into the light, "you have, I fear, reached the end of your string."
"De Lysle!" exclaimed the wounded man. "May the Devil take me! What do you here—and under a false name? Did England get too warm for you?"
Parkington nodded. "Something of the sort; so I borrowed another's—a dead man's—for the time."
Brandon laughed, grimly. "Methinks your string is little longer than my own—though I wish you success with the game you are playing, whatever it is."
Parkington took a low stool, from the corner, and sat down.
"The immediate point is to lengthenyourstring," he said.
"You will help me to escape?" the other asked.
"Yes—I have not forgot the old days, Charles."
Brandon looked at him thoughtfully.
"Why?" he asked, "what is thequid pro quo?"
"Nothing whatever, but past deeds. You forget the risk is mine. I put myself in your power, when I came here. A word from you, and I am undone."
"A word from the pirate, taken red-handed? Oh, no! But I will grant anything you ask, in reason and out. I may not cavil with the noose before my nose."
"Wait, then, until I ask it!" laughed Parkington. "How is your wounded shoulder."
"It is nothing—only a broken collar-bone. I have led many a boarding party with worse. It is these damn things that weigh me down," indicating the irons.
"You could swim to shore, if they were off?" queried Parkington.
"Easily. Besides, if I fail, I win anyway."
"And the key to the irons is in Jamison's pocket! Well, it shall be my business to abstract it. And, then, having got it to you, the rest depends upon yourself—aided by my prayers."
"If it is just the same to you, I would preferyou stopped with the key," said Brandon. "I doubt the efficacy of your prayers."
"So be it—I will leave the praying to you."
"How long am I to be kept here?" asked Brandon.
"Only a day or two, I believe. It is the purpose of Captain Jamison to carry you to Annapolis for trial."
"And, in the meantime, you will try for the key?"
"I shall try for the key before I leave the ship," said Parkington. "What troubles me, is an excuse to come back to you when I have it.... Brandon, how long have you been doing—this?"
"You mean, how long have I been sailing under the Jolly Roger? Four years, this spring. It was down in Havana. I fell in with a Captain Sparks. From cards to a duel was an easy transition. I killed Sparks, and, for want of something better to do, I seized his ship, put my sword through his mate—who questioned my authority—and ruled in his stead."
"And took the soubriquet of Long-Sword."
"The men gave me the name for want of a better. My rapier struck them as of unusual length."
"And of unusual strength," said Parkington, "as they, doubtless, were made to realize."
"Yes, I suppose so—they were a trifle unruly, at first, and resented discipline. They came to it,however," and he smiled faintly. "It is a long story, De Lysle, a long story!—too long to tell at this time. I am done with the business, now. I should have quit a year ago. I had made enough, for the present, and it is poor sport, anyway—there is too much blood-letting in it. If I get out of this fix, Long-Sword vanishes forever. I will go home, and live decently. You would better follow my example, De Lysle."
"Not at present, thank you; may be, not at all."
The other looked at him and laughed.
"You are visiting at the—Hedgely Hall, are you?" he asked.
Parkington nodded.
"And there is an eligible daughter?"
Another nod.
"I think I comprehend. And you saw and recognized me, while the master of the house was arranging the terms of a ransom. By the Lord! I wonder what became of the gold?—you might take it, yourself, if it has not been picked up. It must be at the landing, somewhere."
"The ransom was found by Captain Jamison, and returned to Marbury," Parkington explained.
"Well, it is a pity. It would have come handy, I reckon. But, if you get the girl, you will get the money, too. Tell me, did you have this scheme in mind, when you left England?—No—and has your change of name anything to do with it?"
"Damn the change of name!" said Parkington."It complicates everything, and I do not know how to get rid of it."
"Parkington?—Parkington?—Was not he a friend of Baltimore—one of his women chasers?"
"The same;" and told him, briefly, the story of the wreck, the letters, and the substitution.
Brandon laughed. "And, now, the girl intervenes? I do not see how you can manage it and remain in the Colony. Better give her up and continue your travels.—You are not in love with her?"
"Lord! no!"
"And she?"
"Is not either."
"Then you have only your powers as lady-killer, and being an Englishman, to win out with. Man! man! you better abandon the damsel and move on. It may be pleasant sport, but it is too dangerous."
A heavy step crossed the deck and the door opened, to admit the skipper.
"Sir Edward, I am sent by Mr. Marbury to ask if you would care to look over the ship with him. There is much of interest, I can assure you—these pirates were queer gatherers. Hey, Long-Sword?"
Brandon was not inclined to answer, but Parkington gave him a quick look, and, instantly, he understood. Here was the chance to pick Jamison's pocket, and to give him the key without havingto return to the cabin. They must take the opportunity.
"Yes—that they were!" said he. "We sailed many seas and encountered many ships, and they all paid toll. I am sorry we have not aboard all that we gathered—of gold and silver, jewels and women. It is a rare life, skipper, a rare life! Sometime, the fever may catch you, and, then, hey for the Jolly Roger, and farewell to the merchantman."
"Bosh! You are talking to hear yourself talk, Long-Sword," said Jamison. "Your end is going to be enough to keep me straight, even if I want to go wrong. No Jolly Roger for mine, thank God! Sometimes, it pays almost as well to catch a pirate as to be one."
"It pays better in this case," said Brandon, laughing. "What is the reward for me?"
He saw his friend's fingers steal in to the skipper's breeches pocket—and come out empty.
"A thousand guineas!—oh, you are rated high in the profession—right at the top! I calculate, with my share of the prize money and the reward, to settle down in Annapolis, and cruise no more." (Parkington crossed the cabin, idly, to the other side, then stopped close by Jamison.) "Of course, I'll have my barge, and a couple of blacks to row it, and a small schooner to sail the Bay, just to keep my hand and voice in. Oh! it's lucky for me, that I came up the Patuxent this morning, and didn't delay along the Coast until noon!" (Theskipper was standing with his thumbs under his armpits, his chest thrown out, his head in the air—his pockets invitingly open.)
"Honesty gains its own reward," said Parkington, slyly slipping in his hand. "Captain Jamison will be an honored citizen of Annapolis, while you, Long-Sword, will be nothing but a bloody memory." (The hand came out, and the key was in it.) "'Tis small profit at the best this being a pirate, and cannot be for long. When the end comes, there is naught remains but to die bravely."
Brandon heaved a sigh of resignation. "I will die game, never fear," he said.
"Oh, it is entirely your concern, how you die!" laughed Parkington. "If you leave it to the mob, the more you cringe and pray the more they will yell."
He took out his snuff box, and extended it to him.
"Yes, thank you!" said Brandon. "You are very kind, indeed."
Parkington crossed to the bunk, thereby throwing himself between the skipper and the prisoner, and with his back to the former. When he stepped aside, the key was in the other's possession.
"Thank you, monsieur, thank you, heartily," said Brandon—"it is delicious, delicious! May I impose on you for another pinch—I lost my box during the fight?"
Parkington handed him the box, and, this time,he was careful to stand so that the skipper could see distinctly.
"Accept it as a gift," said he. "As a slight return for an hour pleasantly spent.—Nay, I insist; I must to Mr. Marbury, so permit me to wish you, sir, a very good morning."
And with a bow and a smile, he preceded the skipper to the deck.
"Nerve, hasn't he?" said the skipper. "One would never know he has a broken collar-bone, and heavy irons on his legs."
"He will die like a gentleman."
"He confided in you, sir?" Jamison asked, eagerly.
"No—that is the last thing a gentleman would do. He was Long-Sword when taken, he will die as Long-Sword. When do you sail for Annapolis?"
"To-morrow—as soon as the inventory is completed.—She is not as rich, sir, as I anticipated, but there will be a plenty, sir, a plenty."
"Ha, Sir Edward, this is a peculiar proceeding—taking account of a pirate ship," said Marbury. "I don't know the law of such prizes, but I'll be on the safe side; no King's deputy is going to pick things over without any one to check him."
"A wise precaution, and an interesting transaction,—in fact, a wholly enjoyable occasion," Parkington answered. "Jewels, money, gay apparel,—everythingto appeal to one. You have got well into it, I see," pointing to the deck.
"We have finished it, so far as such things are concerned—that is, we have finished the collecting. They must have lately buried or spent their ill-gotten gains; this is the gatherings of only a comparatively short time, I think.
"For these things make us duly thankful!" laughed Parkington.
"Oh! I am not complaining, and neither, I fancy, is Jamison. I am satisfied—more than satisfied. Here is a diamond brooch, worth at least five hundred pistoles—and another—and another. They were in Long-Sword's cabin. And this bezelled ruby, equally as valuable; and this emerald, bigger than the others, I know not the worth of. There is much gold and silver, too, and many rings and—well, I should put it all at twenty thousand pounds, though half may be too much. Then, there is the ship itself—and Jamison and the crew have the reward to boot. Oh, he can leave the sea, and settle down, if he is so minded."
Parkington looked down at the pile of plunder at his feet. Marbury had been modest in his estimate, he knew. It may, as he said, have been the pickings of a short cruise, but it was a rich prize, then, that they had gathered. There were jewels of many kinds and many sizes, other than the few Marbury had enumerated. Dozens of pearls, and sapphires, rubies and diamonds—set in rings, andsingly—encrusted in daggers, and swords, and fans. Great heaps of stuffs: silks and laces, tapestries and damaskins.
"Mr. Marbury's valuation is much too low," said he, looking at Jamison.
"Do you think so, sir? Well, the bigger the value the better." He plunged his hands into his breeches pocket and squared away. "I do not—Why, where, in hell, is the key!" he cried.
"What key!" demanded Marbury.
"The key to the irons—Long-Sword's irons; I had it an hour ago—here, in my pocket!—I——"
"Then you, doubtless, lost it in the confusion of gathering all this plunder," said Parkington.
"And it is no great matter, anyway," Marbury remarked. "You don't intend to remove the irons, so long as Long-Sword is in your custody, do you?"
"No, most assuredly not!"
"Then the Annapolis authorities can cut them off at their leisure, if they have not a key. They are locked on now, which is the essential thing."
"How do you suppose I lost it? I——"
"Never mind how you lost it," said Marbury, impatiently. "You have got the man, so nothing else matters. I want to finish the inventory, and get back to the house. Sir Edward, do not let me keep you, if you wish to return.—You have had your talk with Long-Sword?"
"Yes—and you are right—he is well born, though, of course, as to that, he kept silent. He was ready enough, however, to talk over his pirate days—he recognizes the inevitable and accepts it. There will be no snivelling from him, I think."
"He may be a pirate, but to my mind, he is pretty much of a man. Jamison, let Sir Edward be put ashore."
"Well, it is up to Brandon, now," Parkington reflected as he stepped from the boat, at the landing, and turned toward the house. "And, unless I am not much mistaken, there will be a pirate chief missing, in the morning. And, pray God, he wins out! Who would have thought Sir Charles Brandon would ever have become a buccaneer? He was the gayest of us all, until, one evening, he surprised his wife in his friend's arms. He killed the friend at the next day-break, then disappeared; we never saw him more! And to think, that Long-Sword the Corsair is he! Long-Sword! they named him well—there was not a man, in all England, who could stand up before him with a hope of success. Many is the trick of fence he has taught me—and other tricks, as well. I would I could help him more—yet, I have done all I can. The couple of guineas, I concealed in the snuff-box, may be of assistance; I could manage no more. That devil of a skipper came a bit too soon." ... He walked a little way, in silent meditation. Then shook himself,like one throwing off a spell. "High ho! I am becoming morbid. When the devil drives, the road is apt to be a trifle rough, in spots. Brandon's fortunes are his own—I must not let them affect me.... To marry or not to marry?—to make the maid care for me or not?—and whether the maid can be made to care or not?—that is the question. And, more important still, shall I or shall I not doff the masquerade? Poof! I am growing childish—I cannot make up my mind. To-morrow—to-morrow—to-morrow! To-morrow is another day!—but, to-morrow never comes! Bah! I will decideto-day!"
The ladies came back from Rose Hill, just before supper, accompanied by Mr. Richard Maynadier and Mr. Bordley, who had stopped the night with him.
It was to the calm and peaceful Hedgely Hall of yesterday, that they returned, not the one of turmoil and stress, which they had left that morning. There were no traces of a struggle around the place; the grounds were as usual, the house as usual, the servants as usual. The only evidence that remained, were the scars on the rear door, and even those had been almost obliterated.
"It is all a fairy tale!" laughed Richard Maynadier, "this wonderful story of pirates, and ransom, and their chief being in manners a gentleman, bowing and scraping as though he were doing the minuet. I do not believe a word of it."
"No one asked you to believe it!" retorted Miss Marbury, with a toss of her head, "and, what is more, no one cares whether you do or whether you do not."
"You said that as if you meant it," said Maynadier with an amused smile, "and you said it very prettily, Judith,—but can you assume to answer for all your party?"
"You know perfectly well that 'no one' is equivalent to I," she answered, with another toss.
"Then I is equivalent to no one, and no one comprehends any one, and any one comprehends every one, and every one——"
"Dick!" she cried: "Stop it! stop it!"
"Stop what?"
"Winding yourself into a ball."
"I thought I was deducing a fact."
"Well, stop it! Besides, I do not care for the fact—and neither do I care for you, sir."
"Isthata fact?" he asked.
"It is," she answered. "Very much a fact."
"Are you sure—quite sure?"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"Because, if you are——"
"Yes?" she inflected.
"I will be obliged to——"
"You will be obliged to what?"
"To modify my opinion of——"
"Your opinion does not concern me," she said indifferently.
"So, I assumed; but, nevertheless, I modify it in regard to the pirates. I accept everything you tell, absolutely—the pirate chief and all his mannerisms, included.—Now, do you care for me?"
"You are sincere—you believe it, every word?"
"Every word," he averred.
"Well, in that event, I may care for you to-morrow."
"And to-day—this evening?"
She shook her head. "No—you must pay penalty for a little while. I am going to give this evening to Sir Edward Parkington," she said, as he swung her out of the saddle, and added: "He, I know, cares." Then ran hurriedly up the steps, and into the house.
Richard Maynadier hastily turned the horses over to a groom, and made to follow her, reconsidered, and went on to the library.
This was a new twist in her character, savoring more of the spoiled beauty, than of the equal-tempered Judith he had known. And he was not so sure that he did not like it. She had the beauty to justify it, the poise to make it alluring—and the wealth to make it permissible, even if she had neither of the other two.
"I might almost, if I were a younger man," he reflected, "think she was trying to make a fool of me, or else was in love with me. But, as I can not think either, she must just be trying her hand on the old friend, who will not misunderstand. Sir Edward Parkington!—'he, I know, cares!' Well, my lady, do not presume with him too far. He is one, I fancy, who is apt to take whatever comes his way."
At supper, Parkington was placed at her right and Herford on the left, and he observed that the former exerted his privilege, and monopolized the conversation. Herford, several times, tried tobreak in, but was always manœuvred out of it; and, presently, with a somewhat bad grace, he gave over, and, thereafter, Parkington had it all his own way.
And Judith seemed to encourage him, at least, she did nothing to discourage; she was blindly oblivious to Herford's efforts, gave him no assistance, and welcomed Sir Edward back into the talk with almost flattering eagerness. Whereat, Maynadier was puzzled, and a trifle surprised. Here, also, was a new twist in her character.
A little later, when he was strolling alone down the avenue, he was joined by Herford, who, after a few minutes' talk, said bluntly:
"Maynadier, am I right in supposing you have no particular interest in Sir Edward Parkington?"
"What do you intend by 'particular interest'?" asked Maynadier.
"Friendship—friendship as distinguished from acquaintanceship."
"If you mean, am I an acquaintance rather than a friend of Sir Edward Parkington, I should say, yes."
"Then you have no objection, if I speak plainly?"
"None whatever," said Maynadier. "I am not his sponsor, and neither am I responsible for what you say."
Herford nodded. "Did it ever strike you that there is something queer about him?" he asked.
"No, it did not. On the contrary, I think that he is possessed of faculties far above the ordinary."
"I expressed myself poorly," said Herford. "I meant that he is not what he seems."
Maynadier was silent.
"There is something about him which raises a doubt," Herford went on.
"A doubt as to his personality, or a doubt as to his good repute?" asked Maynadier.
"As to the latter," was the sneering reply, "he is a friend of Baltimore—which is sufficient to put him under a standing suspicion. As to his personality, I do not mean that he isnotSir Edward Parkington—his letters were entirely regular—but that he is playing a part. He does not ring true. I cannot tell just what it is, Maynadier, but it is. How does he impress you?"
"No! no! Herford," said Maynadier. "I did not engage to swap confidences with you, concerning Sir Edward Parkington. All I said was thatyoumight speak plainly concerning him, if you so wished."
"I do not ask for your confidence," said Herford. "I recognize that you are of the Council, and may know matters which are not for us——"
"The Council has no information whatever, concerning Sir Edward," Maynadier interrupted.
"Which goes to show that he is not an agent of the government."
("Which goes to show nothing of the sort," thought Maynadier.)
"And that he is here solely on his own account. As I said, I do not know what makes me suspicious, but I am. Did you notice him with Miss Marbury—ever since we came here, it has been going on—but especially to-night. He has fascinated her."
"Oh! I think not," said Maynadier. "She is the gracious hostess to her guest, who happens to be a man of prominence—nothing more. And, even if he has fascinated her, how does it concern either of us? She has a father and a brother, who are amply able to care for her. Furthermore, as to your proposition, it proves nothing, except that he is much above the average in attractiveness."
"But you could warn them."
"Warn them of what?" said Maynadier, smiling.
"Of the danger."
"The danger of what?"
"Of her showing him so much encouragement."
"And be laughed at for my pains—or shown the door."
"Your intimacy with the Marburys will permit it."
"Intimacy never warrants presumption."
"Friendship does."
"Besides I do not agree with you."
"You are blind!" declared Herford, "as blind as the Governor, himself."
"And how is his Excellency afflicted?"
"In blindness, as to his niece. The fellow is there all the time—morning, afternoon and night."
"And you would change places with him!" said Maynadier, with a laugh.
"I would," Herford answered, promptly, (and Maynadier liked him for it) "but that is not my reason. Were he one whom we knew—one of the men of Maryland—Miss Stirling might favor him, and I have no fault to find. But this is different. An Englishman, with a title, and unsavory antecedents will bear the closest watching."
"Give yourself no concern, Herford," said Maynadier. "If ever there was a girl capable of taking care of herself, and, at the same time, getting the most out of life and its opportunities, it is Miss Stirling. There is no chance of her head being turned by Sir Edward Parkington's attentions. She knows his world and his likes, and will give to his conduct the value it deserves."
"I wish I could think so," said Herford.
"Look here, Captain! I do not usually meddle in affairs which do not concern me, but your trouble is jealousy—plain jealousy. It is all you have against Sir Edward. He happens to be fascinating, and good looking, and an English Baronet—and, of course, Miss Stirling is pleased, (and so is Miss Marbury, though she is only an incident, with you) and is apt to monopolize all the attentions he will give her—as any other girl would do. He will not be here very long, and you will haveyour chance after he leaves. I do not imagine, for a moment, that Miss Stirling is really interested, any more than she is interested in you, or Paca, or Constable, or a dozen others. They would all marry her, too, if they could; but they are not imagining all sorts of things about Parkington just because he has the call, for the present, with Miss Stirling. No, no! Herford; you are jealous—and there lies the whole trouble. Get rid of it, man, get rid of it!"
He raised his tones a trifle at the close.
"Get rid of what, Dick?" called Miss Marbury's voice behind them. She was with Sir Edward Parkington, and had approached unnoticed.
"Ah! listening were you?" said Maynadier.
"Listening, indeed! You disturbed us with your noise—you fairly dinned it in our ears."
"And just enough to make you wish for more! Oh, no, Miss Inquisitive, we will keep the secret to ourselves."
"Then, it is a secret?"
"A great secret—oh, very great!" said Maynadier, with assumed gravity. "Herford has the doldrums."
"And you were walking him up and down the avenue to help him get rid of them?" she mocked. "Oh, kind Mr. Maynadier! I fear, Captain Herford is weary of our hospitality."
"Your fears are groundless, mademoiselle," saidHerford, with a bow; "the doldrums fled at the sound of your voice."
"Then, you know how to banish them in future," she replied.
"I would not impose——"
"It is the hostess' duty to serve to her guests—and her pleasure as well, sir."
"And may I—now——" extending his arm.
"The doldrums fled at the sound of my voice, I thought you said?"
"But they may return—whereas, to effect a permanent cure, Miss Marbury, I would prescribe a walk in the moonlight.—Sir Edward will excuse you, I know."
She turned to Parkington. It was as well to leave him, now—she had done enough, for one evening.
"It shall be as mademoiselle wishes," said he.
She laid her hand on Herford's arm.
"For a little while, then, Captain Herford, you may try the cure!" she laughed, and they moved away.
"I wonder whether she was tired of me, or whether she thought you were tired of the Captain?" said Parkington.
"A little of both, doubtless!" replied Maynadier—and when Sir Edward looked at him quizzically, he added, "But it is, mainly, the butterfly, which every woman has, in some degree, in her nature."
"And a man has in a great degree. Talk about variety—we men are the bigger butterfly of the two. However, it served as a salve for my hurt feelings!"
"Were they hurt?" asked Maynadier, amused.
"What would yours be, if Captain Herford were preferred to you?" laughing.
And Maynadier joined in the laugh.
"He is a queer fellow," Parkington went on. "It is not exactly ill-nature; it is more of a disposition to quarrel with everything—of never being suited. In short, a chronic grumbler. He came out to me, the other morning, with the well developed intention of picking a quarrel—we would have been scraping rapiers, in a minute, if I had wished. Instead, I simply ignored his manner, and laughed him into a decent humor. Has he such a way with every one?"
"Yes—we understand him, and do not mind. He is a good fellow, when you get past his eccentricities."
"But one cannot be always side-stepping," said Parkington. "Some time, he will run against a man with similar tendencies—and then, there will be a little blood-letting, may be, a death."
"You see, in your case," said Maynadier, "you have touched him on the raw. Miss Stirling is a tender point with him."
Parkington smiled. "Which made me all the more careful to avoid trouble.—He is a good officer, I am told."
"A very good one—he went out with Forbes against Fort Duquesne, and made an enviable record. Now, his duties are merely nominal;—he is attached to his Excellency's staff."
Parkington nodded. "Well, I will try to keep on side-stepping. Only, what one overlooks when alone, one cannot let slip in a crowd. I am quite willing to do anything that will not compromise me."
Miss Marbury's laughter had floated to them, at intervals; now, she and Herford came slowly into view.
"Waiting?" she asked—"for what?"
"For you to change escorts," said Maynadier. "It is my turn, now."
Herford was perfectly willing to yield to Maynadier. His sole purpose had been to take Judith from the Englishman, and, that effected, he was ready to retire. He stepped back, and bowed himself away.
"You have accomplished wonders, Miss Marbury," he said. "The doldrums have completely vanished. I trust you may be as successful with Mr. Maynadier."
"Mr. Maynadier never gets the doldrums," she answered, over her shoulder. "He is far too serious minded!"
"Which might mean, that I am a bore," said Maynadier.
"Fishing, monsieur?"
"No."
"What do you call it, then?"
"What doyoucall it?" he asked.
"Now, Dick, you want me to say you are the most entertaining man in the world."
"Not unless you think so."
"You know you are conceited, dreadfully conceited."
"No one ever told me so."
"No one ever took the trouble to tell you."
"Except you."
"And that is because I like you so well."
"Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth!" he soliloquized.
"What?"
"I said, whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth."
"I should like to see the Lord, or any one else, chastening you!"
"My dear Judith!"
"Does that shock you?"
"A trifle. You handle the Lord rather unceremoniously."
"Not any more unceremoniously than you men do, when we women are not present."
He laughed indulgently, bending down over her.
"Do you know," said he, "that you have a peculiarly fetching way with you this evening?"
"I always have had it," she answered, with afling of the head, "butyouhave never noticed it."
"I have been blind," he said.
"Yes, you have been blind," she agreed, with a quick glance upward.
"Henceforth, my eyes are open."
"Such is the result of walking in the moonlight, Dick. Oh, you will improve, in time!—give the moonlight a chance."
"It requires more than the moonlight," he declared.
"Of course—a pretty girl is essential, too."
"And it requires more than a pretty girl."
"No, the moon and the girl are sufficient."
"Does not inclination play a part?"
"It is resultant of the other two."
"But in varying degrees."
"Oh, yes!" she said.—"For instance, you are more earnest to-night than you used to be—though, in truth, sir, I never before knew you to take the two necessary ingredients in one dose."
"The girl and the moonlight, you mean?"
She nodded, smiling naïvely.
"That is because they were never offered me——"
"Offered you!" she exclaimed. "Do you expect them to beoffered?"
"Again I have expressed myself poorly!" he laughed. "What I mean is, I never had the moonlight, and the inclination, andyouall together."
"I cannot answer for the inclination," she replied, "but as you have the moonlight and me, for the last four years, I may be pardoned if I doubt it."
"But do you doubt it?" he insisted.
"Certainly, I doubt it!—what woman would not?"
"No man would, if he could see you, now."
"Fol-de-rol!" she laughed, and snapped her fingers in his face. "Am I different from what I was last week, or last month, or last year?"
"No, you are not," said he. "I recognize it, now. Alas! that I did not recognize it sooner."
"And you expect me to believe?" she mocked—though her eyes belied her tones, had she but let him see them.
"No! all I can ask is that you be merciful."
"Do you even expect mercy?"
"After a time—when you have revenged yourself sufficiently."
"Revenged myself!" she quoted. "For what, pray?"
"For my blindness——"
She laughed, a light, alluring laugh. "Revenge is for a wrong done.—You have not wronged me. You have always been my good friend—the best friend a woman ever had."
He moved to catch her; she eluded him and sprang away, out of distance.